


Mind if I Smoke?

by dreykar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugs, Friendship, Gen, Sibling Bonding, Siblings, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreykar/pseuds/dreykar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six moments of the Holmes brother's relationship based around situations of smoking. A 5 plus 1 format story, the five times Sherlock and Mycroft smoked with each other and the one time they specifically chose not to. Really a telling of their brotherly relationship across time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock 9, Mycroft 16

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock 9, Mycroft 16.
> 
> Disclaimer: All belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the team behind Sherlock.

"Mycroft! Mycroft!" Sherlock is hastily racing around the grounds yelling at the top of his lungs, the freshly cut grass crunching under his tight school shoes leaving flashes of green on the leather as he continues his search. "Mycroft! Mummy said that you'd help me find some earthworms for my project! She said that-" the primary school student stopped suddenly as he raced around the side of the greenhouse at the Holmes family estate to see his big brother and James Hargrove-Chambers, the boy from down the road who liked to come over to the house sometimes when Mummy and Father didn't know he was there,  _smoking_ behind the building.

The elder Holmes in one swift movement held the offending item behind his back and away from prying eyes. He wasn't amused and held his face impassively. "Go inside the house, Sherlock, I'll be there in a minute" he instructed clearly but somewhat gently.

The nine year old looked scandalised, his blue eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. "You're  _smoking!_ That's bad for you" he explained loftily, with the air of repeating something an adult had said. "Mrs. Harker told us that smoking hurts your lungs and your body and it makes you smell and bad people do it".

James, a tall and lithe boy with slightly long dark hair, was laughing openly which then tapered down into giggles as he took a deep drag, the curly haired one stopped talking and watched with rapt fascination as he inhaled the smoke and then exhaled with a smirk towards his adoring audience.

" _James_ " Mycroft pleaded softly.

"What? He loves it. Only  _bad people_  do it, is that right, Sherly?" he said elbowing the older sibling with mirth. Meanwhile Mycroft was busy flushing a roaring shade of pink on his slightly chubby face and looking away from his friend who was a few months older than himself.

"My name is Sherlock! Get it right" the young boy admonished, arms crossing heavily over his chest with a huff. It was bad enough when people got his name correct and they gave him  _that look_ , but it was worse when they thought they could do as they pleased with his name.

"And are  _you_  bad, Sherlock?" the teen said teasingly, loving the attention he was receiving and the way it made the other squirm to be caught like this.

"Don't talk to him like that" the taller one snapped.

"Mycroft!". They all startled and turned their heads as they heard Mrs. Holmes' voice call out towards them from the distance, behind the trees. "Mycroft, mon cher!"

The addressed seemed torn, clearly not wanting to be found out but not willing to leave these two alone either. "Go home, James. I'll see you tomorrow. Sherlock, go into the greenhouse and get our gloves and shovel ready and we'll find those worms for you. We'll need to be quick though, Father wants me to meet with some of his work colleagues at 7pm sharp". At this he gave his neighbour a tight smile and made off towards the house. He didn't run though, this particular teenager never ran anywhere.

The small science enthusiast had been doing as he was told and was walking off when he heard his name being called.

"Hey, kid. Come here".

The boy stopped and took in details about the brunet like Mycroft had been training him to. Sherlock could do it himself but his brother really helped him make sense of the information more quickly and it was getting easier to do by himself each time. "What?"

The visitor didn't say anything, just held the cigarette out for him to take. He was going to say no but his curiosity got the better of him as it usually did.

"Will I burn myself?" he queried, voice hushed and mind fully focused on the task.

"Not if you don't touch this bit here" he said, indicating to the lit part.

Sherlock looked around to make sure they were alone. "They are bad for you"

"Your brother likes them" was the reply, delivered with the air of reeling in prey.

That seemed to convince him. Anything Mycroft thought was good must be good, and maybe if Sherlock liked them too then he could be more like the big brother he idolised. "So I put it in my mouth and suck on it?"

"Yep, but you have to breath it in" The teen explained in a slow, excitable voice. His smirk should have been a warning.

"Ok". He did what he was told a little too enthusiastically, at first it was easy but then he started coughing. It burned his throat, it floated up and got into his eyes and stung. He dropped the thing and bent over to cough a bit more, the air was getting caught and he was spluttering. He turned and thought about going over to the tap and drinking some water but he couldn't see it through his streaming eyes. Why did people like this?

He kept going and was starting to feel a bit better when he heard fast footsteps and a loud sound he couldn't place straight away. When he could see again he saw James with tears in his eyes, lying on the ground dabbing at his bleeding nose in shock.

Mycroft was standing over him with a bright red face as he shook his hand in pain. "He's only nine, you idiot! How dare you!"

"He asked for it!" the injured one returned, spitting out some more of the red liquid.

"So did you" was the reply as he eyed the blood.

James started to get up, he stumbled back and started to walk off facing them. "You hit me!" he exclaimed.

"A redundant statement, get out". The taller ones eyes darkened. "I don't know what I ever saw in you as company".

The boy's mouth opened in a snarl. "Your brother is just as fucking weird as you, you freak. I'm going to tell everyone what you're like"

The high school student began to walk over to his brother but was facing his classmate. "Don't come around here again. I'll know if you have"

"Fuck no. I'll get you for this!" and then he was running away.

"I don't think you will" the slightly overweight teen said quietly as he began to bend down. Sherlock was drinking from the tap, gulping at the stream. Next thing he knew someone was helping his splash some of the cool liquid at his eyes. "Come on, let's get you inside".

"You hit him" he said with awe. He'd never seen his brother do anything like that. He usually hurt people with his words not his body.

"Yes. And my hand still hasn't stopped hurting. Let that be a warning in case you get any funny ideas about repeating the action"

"It burned my throat" he noted as he allowed himself to be gently led towards the house. "I wonder if smoke from the fires would do the same thing? Or if different types of smoke do different things? Or how you learn to not let it make you cough or go up your nose? Is it a technique or does your body just get used to it? There are a lot of variables, things that you could try. We learned about variables in school and they've been in the books you gave me and ones that are in the library" the child said, innocently, stating some facts and questions that were racing around his brain.

"I don't want you doing it again. I'm disappointed, I told you to go into the greenhouse and you disobeyed me"

"You did it, I saw you".

Mycroft sighed, he gazed down and saw the hunger for knowledge and the trust for him burning brightly in his brother's eyes. "Yes I did but I'm older. Your teacher was right, it's not good for you".

"I'm going to write it down what it felt like and why in my notebook". The little one had a book where he noted his experiments, things that interested him and things he had learned. He gazed up with a small amount of fear, seeking out the other's eyes. "Are you angry with me?" he asked with hesitation.

"Not as angry as I am with myself" he replied honestly, a squirming feeling in his gut.

"I won't smoke again, smoking and drugs are bad for you. I don't know why anyone would do them, Mrs. Harker told us about peer pressure but I don't care about what the children at school are doing so that means I won't do it again".

Mycroft didn't say anything as the one he cared about most then raced off in a game to try to beat him to the house, he'd give him five minutes in there before he'd be forcing them back out there to get the worms for the project. He could handle that.


	2. Sherlock 21, Mycroft 28

 

Sherlock 21, Mycroft 28.

Mycroft found Sherlock in the third place he looked. It was the balcony that led from one of the upstairs entertaining rooms at the family estate. The outdoor area itself was the size of a double garage.

The final year university student sat up on the ledge with the sort of relaxed grace the elder man knew he could never achieve himself even if he tried. Sherlock had disappeared half an hour ago and people were wondering where he was as they thought he should be in clear view at his own father's wake. Mycroft knew however that this was a role that he would have to embody today and, with a grim feeling, he knew it would be him from now on. The time that he anticipated had finally arrived and there were 150 people in one of the large downstairs rooms to prove himself to.

"Well, that was tedious, wasn't it?" the younger man began, not even looking over at his visitor. He was gazing out over the expansive grounds of the manor as the afternoon sun began to fade, blowing smoke from between his pink lips with a bored expression displayed across his features. It was the first time he'd been here in over a year.

"Thank you for coming, Sherlock". The addressed one looked him up and down and guessing correctly offered the pack of cigarettes and his silver lighter. He waited to speak until after the other had lit up and had a few well needed drags. It had been a tough few weeks, no one deserved to have a death drawn out from illness in that way, not even their emotionally distant father. As with a lot of things in their relationship it was something that these two didn't need to verbalise to the other.

"I suppose I should go and speak with Mummy. Tell her it was a beautiful service and whatever else you're meant to say when someone you didn't care for is never coming back".

Mycroft winced a little, his brother had upped the nicotine content considerably, the hit of it made his heart race and he felt light headed. "I have already done so. But I think it would mean something to her if you were to as well. Do try to say it as though you care"

"Did you?". The office worker just gave a little smile, he must have just been himself then. The younger man changed the subject. "Did you see Aunt Eugenie? Looked as though this whole thing was a personal affront. I suppose it prevented her from playing cards with the local ladies or holding her own tea party. How dreary for her".

"Indeed". They stayed like this for a while, the only sound the hissing crackle of the tip of the cigarette when it was inhaled. "Mummy wanted me to let you know that your share of the will has been placed into a managed fund".

Sherlock looked sour but unsurprised. "Managed by whom?" he queried already knowing the answer. Mycroft noticed the dark circles under the eyes, the shagginess of the haircut and the slight congestion in the voice. His brother was really starting to look like a man now, he'd grown into his height a little more but it was his health and state of mind which he wanted to know about. He hoped his deductions were wrong but he knew they weren't, they really never were.

"There won't be too many formalities, Sherlock, but you're still a student and with some of the things I know you're dabbling in you know it's for the best".

The seated one tapped some ash down into the garden below, he couldn't hide anything from his brother in this case so he wasn't going to try. "Why you though? Why not someone else?"

"Who else do you speak with?" the government worker queried with a raise of his brow. "Who else would deal with you when you need the money most? No, it's best that I have the responsibility".

Sherlock shifted his legs so he was dangling them over the edge, one story up, as if daring the man to comment on his reckless behaviour. If not this then the other things he had been up to that he wasn't trying to hide. "You know, you want me to grow up and gain some responsibility. That's never going to happen if you have to hold my hand every step of the way"

"What and instead let your hand be free to depress the end of a loaded syringe?" he gave a humourless smirk as they made eye contact, Sherlock stilled a little waiting for something, anything. "No, it's for the best".

The younger man changes tact. "I hear that you've been at your office more and more and at your townhouse less and less. Anything you wish to tell me?"

"Apart from hard work will get me where I want to be? Not all of us can spend the day playing with a chemistry set for no gain apart from satisfying our own curiosity. You need to think about the future, Sherlock, about what you want to achieve. How you're going to make something of yourself".

The curly haired brunet winced then seemed to look as though he'd won a bet but then it was gone, lost beneath a steady mask. "I see Father's spirit is alive and well even though his body has begun to decay in the soil". He stubbed his cigarette out on the concrete banister and flicked it downwards as he forcefully blew out the last of the wispy smoke.

"Sherlock" Mycroft pleaded as his sibling rose and took a few steps towards the door. He was obviously hurt and he wondered how many people would be able to pick up that this was the case.

"It didn't take you long to take up the mantle, although you've been building up to it for years" he seemed to vibrate with the injustice of it all but his voice was as steady as ever. "Controlling my money and other affairs is a nice touch but one I expected to take at least a month longer. I suppose I should congratulate you". He straighened his blazer, lifting his head so he was looking down his nose at his brother.  He seemed to be building up to the crux of his anger. "Good day, Mycroft. If the new wristwatch Victor is wearing is anything to go by I'm sure you'll be hearing from him as soon as I make any solid decisions about my future, which you seem so  _concerned_ about". He began to walk off but turned to say "And there was me just thinking that the offer of money for some discreet information was merely just a test of character". He seemed to ponder a deep question and when he spoke it was light and airy "I wonder if it's it's too late to get a cab back to London from out this way?".  At this he strolled back into the house leaving Mycroft bowing his head in silence wondering when it would be that the man he still saw as a boy would trust him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Sherlock 25, Mycroft 32. Comments are appreciated :)


	3. Sherlock 25, Mycroft 32

 

Sherlock 25, Mycroft 32

"Breaking and entering again? I thought we were beyond this". Mycroft watched as his brother looked up at him from his position of sitting upside down on the bench in a holding cell. The blood had rushed to his face and he wondered how long he'd been sitting there, bored, like this. He knew that it had been hours at least before he'd received the call that the younger one was being held here. He needed a better way of checking up on his brother, obviously the current system wasn't working, especially if he was hearing from the police before any of his contacts and with a large delay at that.

"I needed information for a case I was working on" he noted, sounding as though this was a perfectly logical reason for the action.

Mycroft stood directly in front of his sibling, his hands felt empty without the umbrella he'd taken to carrying with him everywhere but had to check in at the desk. It was possibly strange that he felt underdressed when in a four figure Saville Row three piece complete with a midnight blue pocket square. He then turned to look at the door as though the person that had let him in was still standing there although they were alone. "I see that the Detective Sergeant has finally figured out that the anonymous 'tipster' who has had a 100% success rate and the boy who has been filling up the yards holding cells on a more frequent basis is one and the same".

Sherlock looked proud, as if everything was going to plan. "He said he'd contact me the next time he's in over his head with a case. Well as long as these charges don't hold and I'm not arrested again for a while" he added with a dismissive wave of his hand, as though that wasn't a problem.

"He used those words?"

"Close enough" the brunet responded sitting up and extending his hand.

"What is it you want?" the suited one questioned already knowing the answer.

"Blazer pocket, silver case. Hrm" he squinted his eyes as though he could see through the material " _Father's_  silver case". He opened and closed his fingers like a child begging for a toy to be passed to them.

"You can't smoke in here, it's-"

"-I haven't smoked in ten hours, either you do this or I start yelling and clawing at the walls. Don't think that I won't. The detector in the corner isn't functioning, I've already checked".

Mycroft relented, passing the responsibility of the actions to his little brother. He didn't take one for himself, he really only kept them with him so he could bond with his bosses and clients when the situations came up.

"So you elect to be a detective then?" at this he looked at the prisoner more closely now that he was upright. "And you've been sober for at least a month". This was a pleasing surprise. He accepted a drag from the proffered item and then passed it back.

"Firstly, I am not an addict, the drugs are just something I do from time to time to alleviate the dull dreariness of existence when no other stimulant is available-"

"-and secondly this 'Lestrade' said he wouldn't work with a junkie"

"I'm not a junkie" he snapped as if physically hurt, averting his eyes and holding the smoke in his lungs for longer before releasing it.

"So they weren't his words then?"

A small pink tinge appeared on his cheeks and his gaze began to dart around. "Close enough".

He saw the positive steps forward that this policeman had helped facilitate. Things he'd been trying to encourage in his sibling for far too long with no response. "I should thank him"

"Don't scare him off" the thinner one snapped with a real bite in his voice, as though this wasn't the first time something had been pulled out from his grasp by this man's interference.

"What makes you think I would?"

"I know you and you don't do 'friendly chats'. Your version of kindness is allowing the person to select their preferred length of rope to hang themselves with"

"Always so dramatic. You do know that I'm actually happy for you?"

"Hmph"

Mycroft accepted another puff. "You've also been staying at the same residence for more than a few months now. It's the first time since you graduated from Cambridge three years ago"

"Montague Street is none of your business"

"I assume you're just satisfied that you're in a position not to need a flatmate where you are after some of the previous mishaps?"

Sherlock had an odd expression on his face, one that only his brother could read correctly. "Really Sherlock? I had no idea that you desired company"

A light tinge of pink lit up his face again. "I don't, as such. Talking aloud helps me think. The skull is fine for now"

"For now?"

At this they were interrupted and told there was five minutes left to visit, they only opened the grate therefore missing the smoke.

"Mummy has been demanding grandchildren again" Sherlock said conversationally.

"Yes"

"I don't think she's very well, Mycroft"

"Yes"

"I also think she's lonely"

A pause this time. "Yes"

"She keeps forgetting and repeating things-"

"-all lives end, Sherlock. You know this"

"But I don't want to lose my mind first"

"We don't get the choice. You'll be fine, Sherlock, try not to worry about it"

"And Mummy? Should I worry about her?". For a moment Mycroft saw a flash of the innocence and trust of past years shine in the blue eyes in front of him. He had thought long ago that he would never see it again.

"In this sort of situation it is not an advantage to care, it will achieve nothing but pain" he softened a little. "But if there is anything you want her to know I would do it sooner rather than later".

Sherlock nodded and processed the information, filing it in the correct place.  "How's the job? Taken over from the Queen yet?"

"Hardly. I've recently been promoted, this position is far more involved. I'm enjoying the depth of the role" he replied as if discussing nothing more involved than the weather.

"Do your superiors know their danger yet?". This was met with no change in facial expression. "Obviously not. You've been irreplaceable for at least two years. Mummy still gets a kick from telling everyone about your 'minor position', by the way. She's very proud at least one of us has taken after Father. Are you going to tell her that you've already surpassed him?"

Mycroft grimaced. "Yes, right after telling her the only time you are I talk these days is when you're in a jail cell"

"Touche".

The elder man began to walk off. "Your paperwork is about to be lost and you'll be out of here in under an hour but I must stress I can't keep doing this for you. Think of it as a present for getting things in order". He knocked on the door and straightened his waistcoat before the exit swung open. He turned and said before leaving "Let me know how your first proper case goes. I'd like to hear it from you. Oh, and do try not to get arrested".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Sherlock 30, Mycroft 37.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated :)


	4. Sherlock 30, Mycroft 37

Sherlock 30, Mycroft 37

"Sherlock calm down" John pleaded, hands raised non-threateningly. He'd tried everything else.

"You don't understand, go away!" the disturbed detective snarled, not stopping his pacing around the living room of the flat.

The doctor tried reason again. "Look I know you're bored, it's been a week and a bit since the last case but-"

"- _really not helping_ " Sherlock sneered right in John's face, daring him to  _do something._ Nothing happened. With a growl he was then back racing around the room in strange patterns, pulling at his hair and yelling. His brain was burning, he felt like yelling, crying, laughing, hugging, pushing away, talking, being silent and moving all at once.

John had adopted his doctor voice. "You've been manic for the last day, especially the last few hours-"

He was cut off as the taller man barked humourless laughter while looking a little desperate. The words came falling from his mouth, dripping out like venom. "Sarah's going to break up with you, you're not what she wants, she hates the fact that you're not 'available' all the time. You resent the fact that you were banished to the sofa so often and there's no going back for either of you. You don't mind the dance but not when there is little to no pay off. Your sister lied to you, she's back on the booze, she's been pawning off some of the things left by your parents that she looked after while you were serving. You're disappointed that she's doing it but you can't be bothered with the conflict that will be caused if you confront her about it so you don't. Your shoulder has been hurting more and more but you're too stubborn to go to the specialist as you know it's become worse but it's more 'real' if they tell you. You want to catch up with a few of your army buddies but you don't want to as you'll be told stories and there are people who have died and you don't know who yet so it's easier not to know and STOP LOOKING AT ME!" he bellowed at the end, kicking the chair and sucking in a shaking breath.

John raced off upstairs. Sherlock kept doing what he had been doing then realised somewhere in the back of his consciousness that he was shaking all over. He came to a conclusion then paced off to his bedroom, shutting his door and locking it.

"Mycroft" John said, he had to go to his own room to get his phone which was charging. He tried not to be hurt by what Sherlock had said as he knew he wasn't in his right mind, but it meant he needed reinforcements. This was easily the worst episode that John had seen from his friend and it tugged at his heart to see him like this.

"John, what's the matter?"

"It's Sherlock. He's been manic, he's pacing, pulling at his hair, making strings of unrelated deductions. His eyes, they-"

"-John, I'm half an hour away. I could bring in others but I think they would just escalate the problem. Now listen carefully, I need you to do some things for me. Thank you" he said more softly then a car door closing was heard, he was on his way. "Firstly, offer him a cigarette, I've had some left in the head of the bull skull on the wall. If he accepts, stay with him, talk to him, make sure you can see him"

"I think I heard his bedroom door close"

"Then hurry, he could start any moment"

"Start?"

"Drugs, Dr Watson. I'll be there soon".

"Jesus, Mycroft"

"Stay with him, John". Suddenly the line went dead.

The doctor made his way downstairs as fast as he ever had. He knocked on Sherlock's locked door. "Can I come in?"

"How's my brother, John? What's wrong, did I scare you? Too much for you to handle? Decided to leave yet?"

"Would you like a cigarette? I've got some here, why don't you come out?"

"Nice try, John. I award you full points for effort, what's it like to be a pawn of my brother's? Wait, you have been since the day we met!"

John went over and retrieved the pack from the bull skull, he had to stand on the desk to do it. "Sherlock open the door so I can-"

Suddenly the bedroom door opened and in a flash the pack was snatched from him and he was pushed back a bit. Before he could move forward the door was slammed and was locked again.

"Luckily I have a lighter in here, not good enough, it's impolite to offer without a light! Tisk tisk!"

"Let me in!" John yelled and rattled the door handle and then pounded on the door. "Sherlock, I want to talk!"

"Talk? Talking's boring". The sound of a lighter scratching was heard then a few moments later the sound of plastic tearing.

"Sherlock that better not be a syringe" he warned, voice laced with concern and authority.

"We'll make a detective of you yet, John"

"Sherlock!" the blond yelled as he banged on the door frantically. Suddenly he saw movement at his left, he hoped it was the elder Holmes but saw a flash of dressing gown.

"John, I heard noises. What's going on? What's wrong?"

"Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock-he" he noted he was talking to an elderly woman. "It's fine you should go back downstairs, he's gone a bit funny"

"He's been off for a few days. Have you called someone?"

"His brother". The sound of the window opening and shutting sounded out, perhaps he should wait for Mycroft rather than calling the emergency services as he had just been thinking to.

"What about that lovely policeman? He can talk some sense into him"

"Lestrade isn't a good idea right now" he admitted with a meaningful look.

John wasn't the only one whose detective skills were picking up or maybe it was women's intuition. "I checked his room last week and couldn't find anything" she put her hands up to cover her mouth. "You don't think he's brought something else into the house do you?"

It had become quiet in the bedroom. "I think he has, I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson"

"Oh, don't be silly, don't worry about me. How long until his brother is here?

"Ten minutes at a minimum".

"Sherlock, it's Mrs. Hudson, dear. How about you come out here and have some tea with John and I? I'll get a pot ready?".

Nothing.

John tried to break down the door now, it was a testament to the landlady's unwavering support of her special tenants that she moved back to give him move room rather than trying to stop him.

He tried for a minute longer then someone moved him out of the way. "The bathroom door will be far easier, this one is deadlocked". Mycroft Holmes walked into the bathroom and pushed on the door. "Once this is over, John, I will be instructing you on correct 'Danger Night' procedure. You weren't to know". From his pocket he pulled out a few tools and began to undo the lock.

"So that's where he learned that from" the ex-army medic commented with a nod.

"Actually" the British government replied as they heard a click and he swung the door open "this is one of the things I've learned from him".

The room was empty. Even through his stress John couldn't help but admire the way the older man worked. His eyes took in the disposable syringe wrapper, the single drop of clear liquid next to it and a couple of belts lying on the bed, he'd obviously gone through a few to find the right one to use to tie off his arm. His eyes flicked across to the window which he walked towards and began to open, it hadn't been shut the entire way.

"It's cocaine, first relapse since you've moved in. He's smoked in here, injected then gone up to the roof using on the fire escape". He was removing his blazer and taking off his tie which he walked over and placed gently on the bed. "You've performed admirably, Doctor Watson. Keep your phone with you in case I need your assistance but I doubt we'll need to resuscitate tonight".

"Where are you going?"

Only now did the elder man risk almost rolling his eyes. "You're to stay here, make Mrs. Hudson some tea, settle her with a soother back in her flat. I'll be back down later". He awkwardly began to get himself out the white framed window. John came over to assist him after he had stumbled a few times, not really knowing the best way to do this. "I will admit that I'm not famed for my climbing skills".

"But when it's important?"

"Anything if it's important. Anything". It took him a couple of minutes to climb up the stairs. He knows that he's torn part of the trousers, he's red in the face and sweating but is more concerned with what he'll find above.

When his head finally pokes up over the edge of the building, he can see his brother lying on his back on the roof, still, watching the night sky. He feels better once his two feet are safely on the concrete and he goes and sits down next to the detective, picking up the pack of cigarettes and lighting one for himself. He needs a reward for that legwork even though he hadn't smoked for months.

"It's all fine now, Mycroft. I can concentrate, my mind has settled. Funny it takes a stimulant". He was still fidgeting but this was far from the worst he had seen him.

The elder man just looked sad, if he hadn't been at a function tonight he would have come around earlier and this could have been avoided. "You were doing so well".

"Hrm. Yes. Maybe. Not really. I've been so bored, my mind it tears itself apart without the proper stimulation. Burning itself, ripping it to shreds. You know".

"I'm sorry it's come to this". Mycroft sat next to him, watching above them. "Doctor Watson is concerned"

" _John_ " the detective sighed softly. The tone told so much.

"He is a good man, Sherlock. It is not my place, or way, to tell him so. You didn't say anything too harsh in your state did you?"

The younger man just blinked and turned away. After a minute or two he lit a cigarette and continued to lay silently, not wanting to discuss his thoughts on the wonderful man downstairs waiting for him.

"Do you remember when I taught you the constellations?" the suited one said conversationally.

"Once when I was angry with you I deleted them" he explained simply with no emotion.

The elder one showed no outward sign of his hurt. "See that one there? That's called…"

They spent the night up there learning the different stars together. Again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Sherlock 31, Mycroft 38.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated :)


	5. Sherlock 31, Mycroft 38

Sherlock 31, Mycroft 38

Sherlock found it easy to slip into his brother's building with the morning crowd who mostly had their heads down as they rushed to be at their desks right on time. He had left his coat and scarf at home today, the warmer weather had meant he could just wear one of his black suits.

Looking right at home the detective gazed around the corner of the open plan area and with purpose made his way to the office he needed to get to. But there was one barrier he had to get through to be able to gain entry, one he was sure to never underestimate.

"Good morning" the brunette greeted, not looking up from her blackberry. It seemed as though she had known he was there all along or was perhaps expecting him.

"Hello" he replied with a nod, then without another word tried to step forward to the door in front of him but through a swift and clever stilettoed sidestep found himself blocked by an assassin in sheep's clothing.

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes is busy right now. You'll have to wait" she instructed with ease.

Sherlock stood up to his full height with a deep breath, trying to keep himself in check as she was more likely to let him in without a fuss if he didn't make a scene. The woman looked up with a small smirk as he regarded her down his upturned nose. "I wish to speak with him" he explained in his best 'I'm making a calm request' voice.

Her reply was clear and assured. "I'm afraid he's booked up until 2pm. Would you like to leave a message or make an appointment?"

"M-message? Appointment?" he stuttered slightly, feeling outraged at his treatment. He wasn't going to let this infuriating woman, no matter how many times he'd met her over the years, get the better of him.

"He said you'd be in today" she explained, carefully. "He also said to give you this".

Right then the detective's phone signalled an email. He huffed and with exaggerated limbs removed the phone from his pocket. It was a list of gift ideas within the price range that he was looking at spending.

Ever since Lestrade had mentioned something about John's birthday coming up next week Sherlock had been wondering what to buy his one and only friend. He had ranged from telling himself he was not the gift giving type to setting up an Excel spreadsheet of John's likes and dislikes and transferring that information into graphs. He hadn't slept in two days, it was proving to be the most trying case.

"I'll take that as a thank you?" she prompted with professionalism.

He pursed his lips, closed the phone application and slid the mobile into his pocket, gazing over her head the whole time. She smiled, knowing that not tearing her suggestions apart was his version of appreciation.

He turned slightly and gave her desk a detailed once over. Something struck him as odd, however. "Why is there a cooling teapot on your desk?"

Her face closed over as though she was hiding something. "Mr. Holmes hasn't requested his second pot yet, he's been-".

Sherlock glanced at his watch. "It's 9am, something's wrong".

At this he pushed past her, ignoring her protests. He swung the door open to see Mycroft sitting in his chair which he'd moved to face the window. He was staring out, leaning back with a slight frown on his features. He seemed a million miles away.

Sherlock waved his hand at the assistant to dismiss her and she left quietly. He walked over, only as he took his own chair and sat near to his brother did the other note his presence.

"Did Aphrodite give you those gift ideas? The new laptop would be practical but the set of antique medical journals displays more thought" he said sounding completely drained.

"You've been here all night"

"Yes, most puzzling problem I've been given"

Sherlock looked around the room then wordlessly studied his brother before declaring "You were made aware of part of the situation two days ago, it wasn't as bad then, you hoped it could be kept in the country. Last night you were informed that your suspicions were correct and that the espionage part of the problem and was not only international but  _multinational_ , three, no five-"

"-seven-"

"-seven people been arrested in Bali-"

"-Jakata-"

"- Jakata, two have already used the suicide pills provided by the third country tied up in the mess. Three people here have filled you in on the salient details, two are consistent, one isn't but you're more inclined to believe the one that doesn't match up feeling as though the other two have conspired together". At this the man frowned deeply "Public figures. But not politians, celebrities with ties to government, that's the connection. They are all drawing from the same untraceable money pool which is funding an array of missions, part of your job is to work out exactly what".

"But it all fits too neatly"

"I can look over the-"

"-the less you know the better. Six people have died already". At this he stood, groaning as his muscles stretched for the first time in many hours. Once he was almost up he swayed on the spot and had to grab out at the window frame to prevent himself from toppling over.

Sherlock looked from this to the untouched tea tray on his desk. "When was the last time you ate?"

Mycroft had righted himself and appeared better although he was still pale. He walked over to a chair and checked the pockets of his overcoat, looking for something. "Ah, it was". He seemed vacant, his mind still focused on the case at hand. "Yesterday morning, I believe. Perhaps the night before".

The younger Holmes paused then spoke. "You know your body demands to be well fed at all times. It must have gone into shock at the lack of baked goods". Anyone listening would think he was being unkind but both men knew that this was a plea to look after himself.

"Crack the window open, would you?" he requested, kindly, taking out two cigarettes from his silver case and lighting them up once he reached his guest. "I've noticed you haven't been wearing your patches. Off the wagon again?"

"You're one to talk" the younger one snipes, snatching the item with no seeming gratitude.

"I'm sure John will be grateful for anything you get him" the elder man states, picking up on the tension and watching him closely now.

Sherlock was busy picking at his nails and blowing the smoke out the open space. "I was thinking of not getting him anything, he knows I don't go in for sentiment. I'm not too fussed about it either way"

"Spreadsheets, Sherlock?" his brother queried with a knowing smile.

The detective's gaze was steady, as though he hadn't been found out. "Well" he finally said, tapping some ash off as an afterthought. "I suppose I would find the old medical journals interesting for myself. It would be a bonus if they'd also satisfy John's need for a gift, yes?".

Mycroft watched his brother with a small smirk. "Well, as long as you get something out of it" he commented with a soft smile as, not for the first time, he saw something his sibling did not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next and final instalment: Sherlock 33, Mycroft 40.
> 
> To me it's important that Mycroft is the smarter brother. I think in canon it comes out in the most interesting ways. Although, it does in fanfic too!
> 
> Feedback is appreciated :)


	6. Sherlock 33, Mycroft 40

Sherlock 33, Mycroft 40

Sherlock couldn't believe it. A year ago they'd gotten through the hell of him having to leave for three months, letting John and everyone except for two think he was dead after he took a dive from the Bart's rooftop. It had taken time but now their friendship was stronger than ever.

They'd gotten through Moriarty, Moran and recently Milverton but it was now one of their smaller cases that threatened to bring everything they'd built together crashing down.

This case had been a tough one and had led them to a warehouse with a full team of Lestrade's and back up in the middle of the night. Sherlock and his colleague had argued before they went in. The ex-army man was saying he didn't like the look of it, the feeling of it, like it was a set up and that there'd be more and they needed added officers. Sherlock said it was fine so John went to Lestrade who said they had all the people power they could spare. Sherlock told his flatmate that if he was so worried he should get his gun out, the doctor explained he didn't have it with him as Sherlock had used the last of the bullets on the doorbell again.

It turned out that the instincts of a soldier were worth listening to. They burst into the building and there were more of the jewel thieves than they were expecting and very quickly they were surrounded. Lestrade and the other senior officer were madly on their radios trying to call in more units when a warning shot was fired.

Someone near the front was trying to negotiate, criminals were packing up a large van and preparing to leave. Something happened, a policeman fired a second warning shot and suddenly all hell broke loose. Gunfire began to ring out from all sides of the area and people began to duck for cover.

Sherlock ducked down and after looking around the room his eyes sought out his friend. John was busy getting some people out of the way who had panicked and were screaming, making themselves targets by just standing there in the open. But then his jacket and left side moved in an odd way. Sherlock watched as if it were all happening in slow motion as his blogger fell to his knees on the other side of the warehouse, bringing a hand up to his torso and eyes widening as it came back bright red. He coughed and fell onto all fours now, calling for a medic.

The tall brunet couldn't work out why he wasn't making any ground to his fallen comrade from his hidden position. Then he realised he was being held back by Lestrade, Donovan and two others as there were still shots ringing out as the robbers sped out in three large vans. "Wait! Just wait! No use you getting shot too, the ambulance is outside. Just wait!".

As they wheeled the injured one out Sherlock took a hold of the facts as he stood idly, watching them move his only friend. The man had saved people's lives again. He was...he was a...if heroes existed...but they must if John could... _John_...

* * *

Four hours later he's sitting in a hospital courtyard with his brother and Lestrade. He hadn't uttered a word in two hours, the last time was to abuse some of the hospital staff for something, he couldn't quite remember exactly what. Then one of the men, or both of them, suggested some fresh air while they waiting for his friend to come out of surgery. He looked down at his hands and realised he was holding a takeaway coffee cup, he hadn't touched it and it had grown cold. The sun was beginning to rise around them, the light reflecting on the windows in the yard.

Now that he thought about it he also remembered snarling things at his brother while Lestrade was still out doing police duties, asking him what the point of surveillance was if it couldn't prevent this sort of thing. He thought it would help the guilt of not listening before they went into the building, of using up John's bullets, of not being by his side as it happened, of the anger at the police, at the people who hadn't got out of the way as if they  _had_  he wouldn't have had to go out and pull them to safety. His fury at his brother for...not preventing this, for not having his own team there, for not warning him that this could happen, for not telling how much it would hurt him even though it was not him that took the bullet. The only thing remotely close to this was when Mummy had died and even now it wasn't a patch on the feelings that were threatening to burst out of him now. He'd broken his only friend's trust. He didn't understand what was racing through his emotions but he had the feeling that Mycroft was beginning to get it and right now he hated him for that.

The two older men had been talking on and off the whole time in their outdoor location.

"...that was when my two brothers realised that locking me in the garage probably wasn't the best idea they'd had in a while. Should have heard me Mam give them a gobfull once she'd found me" Lestrade reminisced to the elder Holmes.

Sherlock looked up to Mycroft who was watching him intently. "Welcome back. Still no word" he reported softly "they said they would come and get us once he's out of recovery or they have...further information".

The silent man nodded and went back to staring at the concrete ground. Around ten minutes later the door opened and closed again. The greying DI was interrupted by a voice calling out to him "Oi, Lestrade! 'Stradey!". A man who had come out for smoke waved and came closer, he hadn't lit up yet. "'Stradey, ya geezer!". He walked over but toned down his wide grin as he took in everyone's tired faces. "You alright, mate?"

"Friend got shot. Still in surgery"

"He'll pull through, right?" he offered, but dropped his slightly raised arms a little as the policeman's eyes looked away and then he saw Sherlock's drawn face. "Oh. Well best of luck, got my fingers crossed for 'im".

"Archer's from my home town, we played rugby together" Lestrade explained, trying to not let this get too weird.

Mycroft gave a short nod and a tight smile as he flicked his gaze over the man's tracksuit. The standing one gave the government worker's three piece the once over too and they seemed just as disapproving of the other's choice of fashion.

"Me misses' been in labour for the last eight hours, screaming bloody murder up there" at this he indicated vaguely to some windows above.

"How is Pam?" Greg wondered.

"This one's Sandy" he corrected but left it at that. He opened the packet and held it out for Sherlock. "Look like you could use one, mate".

"John doesn't like it" he said shortly and just sat there. The box was then turned down by the two others out of respect of this. Greg was also still doing well with the patches when he needed them.

Lestrade said a few more things and then the visitor was saying to the curly haired brunet "Thought you looked familiar, so what can you tell about me?" the cigarette was hanging off his bottom lip and he was about to light it.

"That if you smoke that anywhere near us, if we get even faintest  _whiff_  of it on our clothing, your nose will be broken in two places before you can say 'Premier League'".

The man's mouth drooped open and they were only saved by a woman calling out to him to come inside, his mother Mycroft determined easily.

They were left there for the next half hour until a woman came out to tell them that John was out of recovery and was expected to be ok but the doctor would explain more about his condition. Sherlock shot past her without even a thank you with the other two following behind.

"Hi there, I'm Abby, I'm Mr. Watson's nurse this morning" a red-haired woman explained in John's private room. At this she carefully bent further towards the injured man then kept writing his vitals down on the chart. "John? John Watson? Mr. Watson?". The nurse was trying to ease him into consciousness as John's eyes had flickered a bit but her tone enraged the detective.

Sherlock moved forward, coat flapping. "That's  _Doctor_  Watson, you should know what a doctor is. If you're going to ignore that you may also call him Captain Watson, this man fought for our country. Choose one"

"Sherlock" Mycroft pleaded softly a few steps behind the detective. "Apologies" he directed at the medical team.

But he had to get this point across because it was a lot easier than having to take in that there was his friend lying there portraying a disturbing resemblance to the white sheets he was resting on. Not for the first time he hated having to see all of the details. But this was different, he wasn't some everyday thing that needed coddling. This was John, his John. The brave soldier, knowing John, the man who shot a cabbie for him the day after they first met and had been a guardian angel ever since. He happened to look over at Mycroft who had the most odd expression on his face, like he'd just read all of that from his features and he didn't quite know what to do with the information.

The nurse just nodded. "John here is going to wake up soon, he's going to be very groggy".

At this the doctor who had been lingering at the doorway stepped forward. "The bullet was removed from his abdomen, he will be in pain and be stiff for the next few weeks then a couple of months but it all should heal nicely. He was very lucky, there will be no real permanent vital organ damage but there will be physiotherapy required. He'll be off work for a little while but is expected to make a full recovery in time"

"Yes" the detective nodded in agreement.

"We're also going to need to talk about psychological care. He's a returned veteran with an previous war wound, a bullet at that. He's going to need someone to talk to about this"

"He can talk to me" the blue eyed man replied as thought it was the only answer.

"Mr. Holmes-"

"-his therapist is useless. She couldn't tell his limp was psychosomatic! I cured it the day after I met him, I'll cure anything else that should arise from this. I would have healed the bullet wound myself too if I had the skills. I don't so that's where you come in. Simple".

" _Sherlock_ " Mycroft stated again, this time he didn't want to break down the meaning in the tone.

John's eyes were flicking open and shut, they were unfocussed, he was trying to make sense of where he was, why he was feeling this way. The nurse was squeezing his hand and telling him where he was and what had happened.

Sherlock took his gloves off carefully, removed his scarf and shrugged off his coat and placed them on the chair behind him. He waited for the woman to let go of the injured man then took John's other hand in his own. He was blinking, shutting his eyes, fading in and out. It was a combination of the remnants of the anesthetic and the pain killers and antibiotics they'd pumped him full of. He looked over at the nurse, he hadn't really taken in his flatmate yet.

"-they safe?" his raspy voice tore out, eyes closed again.

"Everyone's safe, John"

His eyes flew open again and he said suddenly "Murray...is...Bill? Saved...me"

The woman didn't know what to say so she just repeated that everyone was ok.

The detective was watching John's feet move when he felt a firm grip on his hand and heard "S'lock" though a few coughs.

"John, you're awake". He abhorred stating the obvious but it seemed to slip past his lips as the right thing to do. He felt he was awfully bad at this, should he even be holding his hand at all?

"Got shot" the blond slurred.

"Yes, yes you did. You've always had a talent for stating the obvious" suddenly that felt a little wrong as everyone stared at him. Was that a bit not good? This was why John needed to be fully conscious, to tell him these things. "You've had me concerned" he said truthfully.

"Tell Harry"

"Why?" he asked openly, a little shocked at the request knowing the state of their relationship.

"Her brother" he said simply. His eyes went wide as he tried to focus then slipped closed for longer now. Sherlock wondered if he'd ask for Mycroft if he were in this position? Then he realised he never had to, he was always there anyway. "Sleep. Sleepy" John sighed.

"Go to sleep then". Sherlock stood there for around ten minutes watching John's face as he slept as he processes his thoughts. The medical staff had filed out, they'd said something to him and presented him with another chair but he remained standing. Then there was a hand on his shoulder and he allowed himself to be led from the room, knowing he'd be back soon.

"It is saddening to see the doctor in such a position" Mycroft remarked as they stood down the end of the corridor in a vacant seating area. Lestrade had gone back downstairs to make a phone call.

"Don't pretend you care  _'it's not an advantage'_ " the younger one spat in a poor impersonation of the other. He had decided to push from his mind that Mycroft was always there for him despite their differences.

That was impossible at the other's words "Of course it isn't, you've been breaking my heart since you were twelve".

At this Sherlock's eyes and upper body swung around to face his brother in clear and open shock.

"Oh, don't look so surprised" the older one tutted, not making eye contact.

"But, but you..."

"I what? Have always chosen to look after you? Have always done my upmost to ensure your safety and happiness even though those are often mutually exclusive?". He seemed irritated at having to talk about this, they were not known to discuss such matters with each other and now felt like an awkward time given the circumstances.

"So you're saying I'm the reason that you're so...?"

"Heavens no" he dismissed, he was suddenly completely himself and back in control. "You can't be in my position and be... _sentimental_ " he said the word as though it were distasteful. "I've never gone in for it myself. And how would that explain you? No, nature and nurture, I'm afraid. We really are Holmes'. The both of us"

"So what are you saying?" the slightly shorter man queried, for once looking for some explanation or direction.

"Deduce my meaning. Infer how that affects your life. Your...relationships" he offered with a roll of his hand.

"Relationships?" he asked in a hushed tone as though it were foreign to him.

"Yes"

"John?"

"Yes"

"But we..."

"What a relationship is ranges on a large scale and that includes platonic. It can be anything you choose it to be, but it's clear you want him in your life in some way".

"You know I don't-" but he didn't explain further. There was a long gap where they both thought this over. "I'm not sorry I yelled at you"

"I would be surprised if you were"

"However, I have...somewhat...appreciated your...presence...as we waited"

The man gave one quick nod and looked away. There was a long pause as Sherlock wondered why he was allowed to stay here. "I told them John was family" he was told in answer to his unspoken question.

Wide blue eyes stayed on their target. "But he's, he's not..."

"Isn't he? You and I are family, Sherlock, we always will be. Recent events have highlighted that Doctor Watson is somewhat vital to your balance and demeanour. And I thought one little brother was enough trouble" he said with a raised brow at the ex- army medic's room. With that he took a few steps away but stopped as Lestrade made his way over bearing news.

"They found the bastards, about 60km away from here. On top of everything else we'll have them for attempted murder".

"A good result keeping all things in mind" the elder Holmes agreed, politely.

"Hopefully" Lestrade nodded. He looked exhausted but had done the right thing and stayed there for John. "Well, that's that then but God I could use some food" he admitted, rubbing his face with his hands in a sign of weakness.

"There's a good cafe near here, opens early"

"Perfect" Greg agreed with a weary nod. "Come with me though, why don't you?" he watched the other man closely. "I don't think I'm ready to go back to my empty flat yet. I need to get what's happened into my system".

They looked at each other closely now, Mycroft was ready to say no. It had been a long, draining day and he had work he should catch up on. It was also getting close to 6:30am and he'd been up for over twenty eight hours now. "I can do that".

Sherlock expected a number of replies from his brother as he began to walk back to John's room but this was not one of them. He stopped walking and turned.

"Excellent" Lestrade smiled widely. He gazed over to the younger one "Say hi to John for me when he wakes up. Tell him I owe him a beer or six once he's right" Lestrade called out towards a stunned Sherlock with a small wave.

They walked off together but Mycroft could be heard saying just before they turned the corner "I find that you can always tell a good cafe by examining the...".

The Holmes brothers were going to be alright, there were people there to ensure it. Including each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this story until the end. The brother's relationship is a multifaceted one I would love to hear your feedback now that it's all over :)
> 
> In terms of other Sherlock stories I'm doing I'm just finishing off now the last couple of chapters of my other WIP story about the 5 times Sherlock almost discovered Mystrade and the one time he did. It's actually more a story about John and Sherlock and how important they are to each other and how they discover this. I'm also doing some headcanon and drabbles separate to that that are ongoing. Then after my current WIP I'm thinking of doing either a Vampire or Magic AU story. Again any feedback on that would be great :)
> 
> Also, if you're on Tumblr come and say hi, get story updates and other Sherlock related things at my account: ambientfall.tumblr.com
> 
> Would love to see you there!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. This first one is a little different to the rest as it deals with kid!lock, in the others they do smoke with each other. The next chapter deals with Sherlock in his final year of university with the brothers meeting up at their father's wake.


End file.
